
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Cliap. Copyright No. 

Shelf....:__.S_>r 

Jt7S' 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




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SONGS OF ACTION 



SONGS OF ACTION 



BY 



A. CONAN DOYLE 

AUTHOR OF "MICAH CLARKE," "THE WHITE COMPANY, 
"RODNEY STONE," " UNCLE BERNAC," ETC. 




NEW YORK 

DOUBLEDAY & McCLURE CO. 

1898 



Copyright, 1898, by 
DOUBLEDAY & McClURE Co. 



2n:: 




189t 



AUG 2 6 

TWO COPIES RECEIVED. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Song of the Bow i 

Cremona 4 

The Storming Party 14 

The Frontier Line 19 

Corporal Dick's Promotion 22 

A Forgotten Tale 30 

Pennarby Mine 33 

A Rover Chanty 37 

A Ballad of the Ranks 42 

A Lay of the Links ...... 48 

The Dying Whip 52 

Master 64 

H.M.S. "Foudroyant" 66 

The Farnshire Cup 70 

The Groom's Story 82 

With the Chiddingfolds 93 

V 



vi CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A Hunting Morning 99 

The Old Gray Fox 101 

'Ware Holes 106 

The Home-coming of the '♦ Eurydice " . 11 1 

The Inner Room 116 

The Irish Colonel 121 

The Blind Archer 122 

A Parable 126 

A Tragedy 127 

The Passing 129 

The Franklin's Maid 139 

The Old Huntsman 141 



SONGS OF ACTION 



THE SONG OF THE BOW 

What of the bow ? 

The bow was made in England ; 
Of true wood, of yew- wood, 
The wood of EngHsh bows; 
So men who are free 
Love the old yew-tree 
And the land where the yew-tree grows. 

What of the cord ? 

The cord was made in England : 
A rough cord, a tough cord, 

A cord that bowmen love ; 



2 THE SONG OF THE BOW 

And so we will sing 
Of the hempen string 
And the land where the cord was wove. 

What of the shaft? 

The shaft was cut in England : 
A long shaft, a strong shaft, 
Barbed and trim and true ; 
So we '11 drink all together 
To the gray goose-feather 
And the land where the gray goose flew. 

What of the mark? 

Ah, seek it not in England : 
A bold mark, our old mark, 
Is waiting over-sea. 

When the strings harp in chorus. 
And the lion flag is o'er us. 
It is there that our mark will be. 



THE SONG OF THE BOW 3 

What of the men? 

The men were bred in England ; 
The bowmen — the yeomen. 
The lads of dale and fell. 

Here 's to you — and to you ! 
To the hearts that are true 
And the land where the true hearts dwell. 



CREMONA 

[The French Army, including a part of the Irish 
Brigade, under Marshal Villeroy, held the fortified 
town of Cremona during the winter of 1 702. Prince 
Eugene, with the Imperial Army, surprised it one 
morning, and, owing to the treachery of a priest, 
occupied the whole city before the alarm was given. 
Villeroy was captured, together with many of the 
French garrison. The Irish, however, consisting 
of the regiments of Dillon and of Burke, held a fort 
commanding the river gate, and defended themselves 
all day, in spite of Prince Eugene's efforts to win 
them over to his cause. Eventually Eugene, being 
unable to take the post, was compelled to withdraw 
from the city.] 

The Grenadiers of Austria are proper men 

and tall ; 
The Grenadiers of Austria have scaled the 

city wall ; 



CREMONA 5 

They have marched from tar away 
Ere the dawning of the day, 
And the morning saw them masters of 
Cremona. 

There 's not a man to whisper, there 's not 

a horse to neigh. 
Of the footmen ot Lorraine and the riders 
of D up res ; 
They have crept up every street, 
In the market-phice they meet. 
They are holding every vantage in Cre- 
mona. 

The Marshal Villeroy he h?s started from 

his bed ; 
The Marshal Villeroy has no wig upon 

his head; 



6 CREMONA 

" I have lost my men I " quoth he, 
"And my men they have lost me, 
And I sorely fear we both have lost Cre- 
mona. " 

Prince Eugene of Austria is in the market- 
place ; 
Prince Eugene of Austria has smiles upon 
his face ; 
Says he, " Our work Is done, 
For the Citadel is won. 
And the black and yellow flag flies o'er 
Cremona." 

Major Dan O'Mahony is in the barrack 
square, 

And just six hundred Irish lads are wait- 
ing for him there; 



CREMONA 7 

Says he, " Come in your shirt. 
And you won't take any hurt. 
For the morning air is pleasant in Cre- 
mona." 

Major Dan O'Mahony is at the barrack 

gate, 
And just six hundred Irish lads will nei- 
ther stay nor wait ; 
There 's Dillon and there 's Burke, 
And there '11 be some bloody work 
Ere the Kaiserlics shall boast they hold 
Cremona. 

Major Dan O'Mahony has reached the 
river fort. 

And just six hundred Irish lads are join- 
ing in the sport ; 



8 CREMONA 

" Come, take a hand ! " says he, 
"And if you will stand by me. 
Then it 's glory to the man who takes 
Cremona ! " 

Prnice Eugene of Austria has frowns upon 

his face, 
And loud he calls his Galloper of Irish 
blood and race : 
" MacDonnell, ride, I pray. 
To your countrymen, and say 
That only they are left in all Cremona ! " 

MacDonnell he has reined his mare beside 

the river dike, 
And he has tied the parley flag upon a 
sergeant's pike; 
Six companies were there 
From Limerick and Clare, 
The last of all the guardians of Cremona. 



CREMONA 9 

"Now, Major Dan O'Mahony, give up the 

river gate, 
Or, Major Dan O'Mahony, you '11 find it is 
too late ; 
For when I gallop back 
'T is the signal for attack, 
And no quarter for the Irish in Cremona ' " 

And Major Dan he laughed : " Faith, if 

what you say be true. 
And if they will not come until they hear 
again from you. 
Then there will be no attack, 
For you 're never going back. 
And we '11 keep you snug and safely in 
Cremona." 

All the weary day the German stormers 

came. 
All the weary day they were faced by fire 

and flame ; 



lo CREMONA 

They have filled the ditch with 

dead, 
And the river 's running red, 
But they cannot win the gateway of 
Cremona. 



All the weary day, again, again, again. 
The horsemen of Duprcs and the footmen 
of Lorraine, 
Taafe and Herberstein, 
And the riders of the Rhine ; 
It 's a mighty price they 're paying for 
Cremona. 

Time and time they came with the deep- 
mouthed German roar. 

Time and time they broke like the wave 
upon the shore; 



CREMONA II 

For better men were there 
From Limerick and Clare, 
And who will take the gateway of Cre- 
mona*? 

Prince Eugene has watched, and he gnaws 

his nether lip; 
Prince Eugene has cursed as he saw his 
chances slip : 
"Call off! Call off!" he cried, 
" It is nearing eventide, 
And I fear our work is finished in 
Cremona." 

Says Wauchop to McAulliffe, " Their 

fire is growing slack." 
Says Major Dan O'Mahony, " It is their 

last attack ; 



12 CREMONA 

But who will stop the game 
While there 's light to play the same. 
And to walk a short way with them from 
Cremona *? " 

And so they snarl behind them, and beg 

them turn and come. 
They have taken Neuberg's standard, they 
have taken Diak's drum; 
And along the winding Po, 
Beard on shoulder, stern and slow 
The Kaiserlics are riding from Cremona. 

Just two hundred Irish lads are shouting 

on the wall ; 
Four hundred more are lying who can 
hear no slogan call ; 
But what 's the odds of that. 
For it 's all the same to Pat 
If he pays his debt in Dublin or Cremona. 



CREMONA 13 

Says General de Vaudray, " You 've done 

a soldier's work ! 
And every tongue in France shall talk of 
Dillon and of Burke ! 
Ask what you will this day. 
And be it what it may, 
It is granted to the heroes of Cremona." 

" Why, then," says Dan O'Mahony, " one 

favor we entreat. 
We were called a little early, and our 
toilet 's not complete. 
We 've no quarrel with the shirt. 
But the breeches would n't hurt. 
For the evening air is chilly in Cremona." 



THE STORMING PARTY 

Said Paul Leroy to Barrow, 
" Though the breach is steep and narrow. 
If we only gain the summit 

Then it *s odds we hold the fort. 
I have ten and you have twenty, 
And the thirty should be plenty, 
With Henderson and Henty 

And McDermott in support." 

Said Barrow to Leroy, 
" It 's a solid job, my boy, 

For they 've flanked it, and they 've 
banked it. 
And they 've bored it with a mine. 
14 



THE STORMING PARTY 15 

But it 's only fifty paces 
Ere we look them in the faces ; 
And the men are in their places, 
With their toes upon the line." 

Said Paul Leroy to Barrow, 
" See that first ray, like an arrow, 
How it tinges all the fringes 
Of the sullen drifting skies. 
They told me to begin it 
At five-thirty to the minute, 
And at thirty-one I 'm in it, 

Or my sub will get his rise. 

" So we '11 wait the signal rocket, 
Till . . . Barrow, show that iocket, 
That turquoise-studded locket. 
Which you slipped from out your pocket 
And are pressing with a kiss I 



i6 THE STORMING PARTY 

Turquoise-Studded, spiral-twisted, 
It is hers ! And I had missed it 
From her chain; and you have kissed it; 
Barrow, villain, what is this*?" 



" Leroy, I had a warning. 

That my time has come this morning, 

So I speak with frankness, scorning 

To deny the thing that 's true. 
Yes, it 's Amy's, is the trinket, 
Little turquoise-studded trinket. 
Not her gift — oh, never think it! 

For her thoughts were all for you. 

" As we danced I gently drew it 
From her chain — she never knew it; 
But I love her — yes, I love her: 
I am candid, I confess. 



THE STORMING PARTY 17 

But I never told her, never. 
For I knew 't was vain endeavor. 
And she loved you — loved you ever. 

Would to God she loved you less I " 

" Barrow, Barrow, you shall pay me ! 
Me, your comrade, to betray me ! 
Well I know that little Amy 

Is as true as wife can be. 
She to give this love-badged locket ! 
She had rather . . . Ha, the rocket I 
Hi, McDougall ! Sound the bugle I 

Yorkshires, Yorkshires, follow me I " 

Said Paul Leroy to Amy, 

" Well, wifie, you may blame me, 

For my passion overcame me. 

When he told me of his shame. 



i8 THE STORMING PARTY 

But when I saw him lying, 
Dead amid a ring of dying. 
Why, poor devil, I was trying 
To forget and not to blame. 

"And this locket, I unclasped it 
From the fingers that still grasped it ; 
He told me how he got it, 

How he stole it in a valse." 
And she listened leaden-hearted : 
Oh, the weary day they parted I 
For she loved him — yes, she loved him — 
For his youth and for his truth. 

And for those dying words, so false. 



THE FRONTIER LINE 

What marks the frontier line *? 

Thou man of India, say I 
Is it the Himalayas sheer, 
The rocks and valleys of Cashmere, 
Or Indus as she seeks the south 
From Attoch to the fivefold mouth ? 
" Not that I Not that I " 

Then answer me, I pray I 
What marks the frontier line ? 

What marks the frontier line? 
Thou man of Burma, speak ! 
Is it traced from Mandalay, 
And down the marches of Cathay, 
19 



20 THE FRONTIER LINE 

From Bhamo south to Kiang-mai, 
And where the buried rubies lie *? 
" Not that ! Not that I " 
Then tell me what I seek : 
What marks the frontier line ? 

What marks the frontier line ? 

Thou Africander, say I 
Is it shown by Zulu kraal, 
By Drakensberg or winding Vaaf, 
Or where the Shire waters seek 
Their outlet east at Mozambique ? 
" Not that ! Not that ! 

There is a surer way 
To mark the frontier line." 

What marks the frontier line ? 

Thou man of Egypt, tell ! 
Is it traced on Luxor's sand, 
Where Karnak's painted pillars stand, 



THE FRONTIER LINE 21 

Or where the river runs between 
The Ethiop and Bishareen *? 
" Not that I Not that ! 
By neither stream nor well 
We mark the frontier line. 

" But be it east or west. 

One common sign we bear. 
The tongue may change, the soil, the sky. 
But where your British brothers lie. 
The lonely cairn, the nameless grave, 
Still fringe the flowing Saxon wave. 
'T is that ! 'T is where 

T'hey lie — the men who placed it there. 
That marks the frontier line." 



CORPORAL DICK'S PROMOTION 

A BALLAD OF '82 

The Eastern day was well-nigh o'er 
When, parched with thirst and travel sore, 
Two of McPherson's flanking corps 

Across the Desert were tramping. 
They had wandered off from the beaten 

track 
And now were wearily harking back, 
Ever staring round for the signal jack 

That marked their comrades camping. 

The one was Corporal Robert Dick, 
Bearded and burly, short and thick, 
Rough of speech and in temper quick, 
A hard-faced old rapscallion. 

22 



CORPORAL DICK'S PROMOTION 23 

The other, fresh from the barrack square. 
Was a raw recruit, smooth-cheeked and 

fair, 
Half grown, half drilled, with the weedy air 
Of a draft from the home battalion. 

Weary and parched and hunger-torn. 
They had wandered on from early morn. 
And the young boy-soldier limped forlorn, 

Now stumbling and now falling. 
Around the orange sand-curves lay. 
Flecked with boulders, black or gray. 
Death-silent, save that far away 

A kite was shrilly calling. 

A kite ? Was that a kite % The yell 
That shrilly rose and faintly fell ? 
No kite's, and yet the kite knows well 
The long-drawn, wild halloo. 



24 CORPORAL DICK'S PROMOTION 

And right athwart the evening sky 
The yellow sand-spray spurtled high, 
And shrill and shriller swelled the cry 
Of " Allah ! Allahu I " 



The Corporal peered at the crimson West, 
Hid his pipe in his khaki vest. 
Growled out an oath and onward pressed, 

Still glancing over his shoulder. 
"Bedouins, mate ! " he curtly said; 
" We 'II find some work for steel and lead, 
" And maybe sleep in a sandy bed, 

Before we 're one hour older. 

" But just one flutter before we 're done. 
Stiffen your lip and stand, my son ; 
We '11 take this bloomin' circus on : 

Ball-cartridge load I Now, steady ! " 



CORPORAL DICK'S PROMOTION 25 

With a curse and a prayer the two faced 

round. 
Dogged and grim they stood their ground, 
And their breech-blocks snapped with a 

crisp clean sound 
As the rifles sprang to the " ready." 

Alas for the Emir AH Khan ! 

A hundred paces before his clan, 

That ebony steed of the prophet's breed 

Is the foal of death and of danger. 
A spurt of fire, a gasp of pain, 
A bluish blur on the yellow plain. 
The chief was down, and his bridle rein 

Was in the grip of the stranger. 

With the light of hope on his rugged face. 
The Corporal sprang to the dead man's 
place. 



26 CORPORAL DICK'S PROMOTION 

One prick with the steel, one thrust with 

the heel, 
And where was the man to outride 

him*? 
A grip of his knees, a toss of his rein, 
He was settling her down to her gallop 

again. 
When he stopped, for he heard just one 

faltering word 
From the young recruit beside him. 

One faltering word from pal to pal. 
But it found the heart of the Corporal. 
He had sprung to the sand, he had lent 

him a hand, 
" Up, mate I They '11 be 'ere in a 

minute ; 
Off with you ! No palaver ! Go ! 
I '11 bide be'ind and run this show. 



CORPORAL DICK'S PROMOTION 27 

Promotion has been cursed slow, 

And this is my chance to win it." 

Into the saddle he thrust him quick, 
Spurred the black mare with a bayonet 

prick, 
Watched her gallop with plunge and with 
kick. 
Away o'er the desert careering. 
Then he turned with a softened face. 
And loosened the strap of his cartridge- 
case. 
While his thoughts flew back to the dear 
old place 
In the sunny Hampshire clearing. 

The young boy-private, glancing back, 
Saw the Bedouins' wild attack. 
And heard the sharp Martini crack. 



28 CORPORAL DICK'S PROMOTION 

But as he gazed, already 
The fierce fanatic Arab band 
Was closing in on every hand. 
Until one tawny swirl of sand 

Concealed them in its eddy. 

A squadron of British horse that night, 
Galloping hard in the shadowy light. 
Came on the scene of that last stern fight, 

And found the Corporal lying 
Silent and grim on the trampled sand, 
His rifle grasped in his stiffened hand, 
With the warrior pride of one who died 

'Mid a ring of the dead and the 
dying. 

And still when twilight shadows fall. 
After the evening bugle-call. 
In bivouac or in barrack hall. 



CORPORAL DICK'S PROMOTION 29 

His comrades speak of the Corporal, 

His death and his devotion. 
And there are some who like to say 
That perhaps a hidden meaning lay 
In the words he spoke, and that the day 
When his rough bold spirit passed away 
IVas the day that he won promotion. 



A FORGOTTEN TALE 

[The scene of this ancient fight, recorded by Frois- 
sart, is still called " Altura de los Inglesos." Five 
hundred years later Wellington's soldiers were fight- 
ing on the same ground.] 

"Say, what saw you on the hill, 

Campesino Garcia *? " 
" I saw my brindled heifer there, 
A trail of bowmen, spent and bare, 
And a little man on a sorrel mare 
Riding slow before them." 

" Say, what saw you in the vale, 

Campesino Garcia ? " 
"There I saw my lambing ewe 
And an army riding through ; 
Thick and brave the pennons flew 

From the lances o'er them." 
30 



A FORGOTTEN TALE 31 

" Then what saw you on the hill, 

Campesino Garcia *? " 
" I saw beside the milking byre, 
White with want and black with mire, 
The little man with eyes afire 

Marshaling his bowmen." 

*' Then what saw you in the vale, 

Campesino Garcia ? " 
"There I saw my bullocks twain. 
And amid my uncut grain 
All the hardy men of Spain 

Spurring for their foemen." 

" Nay, but there is more to tell, 

Campesino Garcia ! " 
"I could not bide the end to view; 
I had graver things to do. 
Tending on the lambing ewe 

Down among the clover." 



32 A FORGOTTEN TALE 

" Ah, but tell me what you heard, 

Campesino Garcia ! " 
" Shouting from the mountain-side, 
Shouting until eventide ; 
But it dwindled and it died 

Ere milking time was over." 

" Nay, but saw you nothing more, 

Campesino Garcia ? " 
" Yes, I saw them lying there. 
The little man and sorrel mare ; 
And in their ranks the bowmen fair, 

With their staves before them." 

" And the hardy men of Spain, 

Campesino Garcia ? " 
" Hush ! but we are Spanish too; 
More I may not say to you : 
May God's benison, like dew. 

Gently settle o'er them." 



PENNARBY MINE 

Pennarby shaft is dark and steep, 
Eight foot wide, eight hundred deep. 
Stout the bucket and tough the cord, 
Strong as the arm of Winchman Ford. 

" Never look down I 

Stick to the line ! " 
That was the saying at Pennarby mine. 

A stranger came to Pennarby shaft — 
Lord, to see how the miners laughed I 
White in the collar and stiff in the hat. 
With his patent boots and his silk cravat. 

Picking his way. 

Dainty and fine, 
Stepping on tiptoe to Pennarby mine. 
33 



34 PENNARBY MINE 

Touring from London, so he said. 

Was it copper they dug for? or gold? 

or lead ? 
Where did they find it? How did it 

come? 
If he tried with a shovel might he get 

some? 

Stooping so much 
Was bad for the spine ; 
And was n't it warmish in Pennarby mine ? 



'T was like two worlds that met that day — 
The world of work and the world of play ; 
And the grimy lads from the reeking shaft 
Nudged each other and grinned and chaffed. 

" Got 'em all out ! " 

" A cousin of mine I " 
So ran the banter at Pennarby mine. 



PENNARBY MINE 35 

And Carnbrae Bob, the Pennarby wit. 
Told him the facts about the pit : 
How they bored the shaft till the brim- 
stone smell 
Warned them off from tapping — well, 
He would n't say what, 
But they took it as sign 
To dig no deeper in Pennarby mine. 

Then leaning over and peering in, 
He was pointing out what he said was tin 
In the ten-foot lode — a crash ! a jar I 
A grasping hand and a splintered bar. 
Gone in his strength, 
With the lips that laughed — 
Oh, the pale faces round Pennarby shaft ! 

Far down on a narrow ledge. 

They saw him cling to the crumbling edge. 



36 PENNARBY MINE 

" Wait for the bucket I Hi, man I Stay ! 
That rope ain't safe I It 's worn away ! 

He 's taking his chance, 

Slack out the line ! 
Sweet Lord be with him I " cried Pennarby 
mine. 

" He 's got him I He has him I Pull with 

a will I 
Thank God ! He 's over and breathing 

still. 
And he — Lord's sakes now ! What 's 

that? Well! 
Blowed it it ain't our London swell. 
Your heart is right 
If your coat is fine : 
Give us your hand I " cried Pennarby 

mine. 



A ROVER CHANTY 

A trader sailed from Stepney town — 
Wake her up ! Shake her up ! Try her 

with the mainsail I 
A trader sailed from Stepney town 
With a keg full of gold and a velvet 
gown : 
Ho, the bully rover Jack, 
Waiting with his yard aback. 
Out upon the Lowland sea ! 

The trader he had a daughter fair — 
Wake her up ! Shake her up I Try her 

with the foresail ! 
The trader he had a daughter fair, 
She had gold in her ears, and gold in her 

hair: 

37 



38 A ROVER CHANTY 

All for bully rover Jack, 
Waiting with his yard aback. 
Out upon the Lowland sea I 

" Alas the day, oh daughter mine ! — 
Shake her up ! Wake her up ! Try her 

with the topsail I 
" Alas the day, oh daughter mine I 
Yon red, red flag is a fearsome sign ! " 
Ho, the bully rover Jack, 
Reaching on the weather tack. 
Out upon the Lowland sea! 



" A fearsome flag ! " the maiden cried — 
Wake her up ! Shake her up ! Try her 

with the jib-sail ! 
*' A fearsome flag ! " the maiden cried, 
" But comelier men I never have spied I " 



A ROVER CHANTY 39 

Ho, the bully rover Jack, 
Reaching on the weather tack. 
Out upon the Lowland sea ! 

There 's a wooden path that the rovers 

know — 
Wake her up I Shake her up I Try her 

with the headsails ! 
There 's a wooden path that the rovers 

know. 
Where none come back, though many 

must go : 
Ho, the bully rover Jack, 
Lying with his yard aback. 
Out upon the Lowland sea ! 

Where is the trader of Stepney town ? — 
Wake her up ! Shake her up ! Every 
stick a-bending ! 



40 A ROVER CHANTY 

Where is the trader of Stepney town ? 

There 's gold on the capstan, and blood 
on the gown : 
Ho for bully Rover Jack, 
Waiting with his yard aback. 

Out upon the Lowland sea ! 



Where is the maiden who knelt at his 

side ? — 
Wake her up I Shake her up ! Every 

stitch a-drawing! 
Where is the maiden who knelt at his 

side? 
We gowned her in scarlet, and chose her 

our bride : 
Ho, the bully rover Jack, 
Reaching on the weather tack. 
Right across the Lowland sea ! 



A ROVER CHANTY 41 

So it 's up and it 's over to Stornoway Bay, 
Pack it on ! Crack it on ! Try her with 

the stunsails ! 
It 's off on a bowline to Stornoway Bay, 
Where the Hquor is good and the lasses 
are gay : 
Waiting for their bully Jack, 
Watching for him sailing back. 
Right across the Lowland sea. 



A BALLAD OF THE RANKS 

Who carries the gun "? 

A lad from over the Tweed. 
Then let him go, for well we know 

He comes of a soldier breed. 
So drink together to rock and heather, 

Out where the red deer run, 
And stand aside for Scotland's pride — 
The man that carries the gun ! 
For the Colonel rides before. 

The Major *s on the flank. 
The Captains and the Adjutant 
Are in the foremost rank. 
42 



A BALLAD OF THE RANKS 43 

But when it 's " Action front I " 
And fighting 's to be done, 

Come one, come all, you stand or fall 
By the man who holds the gun. 

Who carries the gun ? 

A lad from a Yorkshire dale. 
Then let him go, for well we know 

The heart that never will fail. 
Here 's to the fire of Lancashire, 

And here 's to her soldier son I 
For the hard-bit north has sent him forth — 

The lad that carries the gun. 

Who carries the gun "? 

A lad from a Midland shire. 
Then let him go, for well we know 

He comes of an English sire. 



44 A BALLAD OF THE RANKS 

Here 's a glass to a Midland lass, 
And each can choose the one, 

But east and west we claim the best 
For the man that carries the gun. 

Who carries the gun ? 

A lad from the hills of Wales. 
Then let him go, for well we know 

That Taffy is hard as nails. 
There are several ll's in the place where 
he dwells. 

And of w's more than one. 
With a Llan and a pen, but it breeds good 
men. 

And it 's they who carry the gun. 

Who carries the gun *? 

A lad from the windy west. 



A BALLAD OF THE RANKS 45 

Then let him go, for well we know 

That he is one of the best. 
There 's Bristol rough, and Gloucester 
tough. 

And Devon yields to none. 
Or you may get in Somerset 

Your lad to carry the gun. 



Who carries the gun? 

A lad from London town. 
Then let him go, for well we know 

The stuff that never backs down. 
He has learned to joke at the powder 
smoke. 

For he is the fogsmoke's son. 
And his heart is light and his pluck is 
right — 

The man who carries the gun. 



46 A BALLAD OF THE RANKS 

Who carries the gun *? 

A lad from the Emerald Isle. 
Then let him go, for well we know. 

We 've tried him many a while. 
We 've tried him east, we 've tried him 
west. 

We 've tried him sea and land. 
But the man to beat old Erin's best 

Has never yet been planned. 



Who carries the gun *? 

It 's you, and you, and you ; 
So let us go, and we won't say no 

If they give us a job to do. 
Here we stand with a cross-linked hand, 

Comrades every one; 
So one last cup, and drink it up 

To the man who carries the gun ! 



A BALLAD OF THE RANKS 47 

For the Colonel rides before, 
The Major 's on the flank, 

The Captains and the Adjutant 
Are in the foremost rank. 

And when it 's " Action front I " 

And there 's fighting to be done, 

Come one, come all, you stand or fall 
By the man who holds the gun. 



A LAY OF THE LINKS 

It 's up and away from our work to-day, 

For the breeze sweeps over the down ; 
And it 's hey for a game where the gorse 
blossoms flame, 
And the bracken is bronzing to 
brown. 
With the turf 'neath our tread and the blue 
overhead, 
And the song of the lark in the 
whin; 
There 's the flag and the green, with the 
bunkers between — 
Now will you be over or in? 
48 



A LAY OF THE LINKS 49 

The doctor may come, and we '11 teach 
him to know 
A tee where no tannin can lurk ; 
The soldier may come, and we '11 promise 
to show 
Some hazards a soldier may shirk ; 
The statesman may joke, as he tops every 
stroke. 
That at last he is high in his 
aims; 
And the clubman will stand with a club 
in his hand 
That is worth every club in St. 
James'. . 



The palm and the leather come rarely 
together. 
Gripping the driver's haft. 



50 A LAY OF THE LINKS 

And it 's good to feel the jar of the 
steel 
And the spring of the hickory shaft. 
Why trouble or seek for the praise of a 
clique — 
A cleek here is common to all ; 
And the lie that might sting is a very 
small thing 
When compared with the lie of the 
ball. 

Come youth and come age, from the 
study or stage, 
From Bar or from Bench — high and 
low! 
A green you must use as a cure for the 
blues — 
You drive them away as you go. 



A LAY OF THE LINKS 51 

We 're outward bound on a long, long 
round, 
And it 's time to be up and away: 
If worry and sorrow come back with the 
morrow, 
At least we '11 be happy to-day. 



THE DYING WHIP 

It came from gettin' 'eated, that was 'ow 
the thing begun. 

And 'ackin' back to kennels from a ninety- 
minute run; 

" I guess I 've copped brownchitis," says 
I to brother Jack, 

An' then afore I knowed it I was down 
upon my back. 

At night there came a sweatin' as left me 

deadly weak. 
And my throat was sort of tickly an' it 

'urt me for to speak ; 
52 



THE DYING WHIP 53 

An' then there came an 'ackin' cough as 
would n't leave alone, 

An' then afore I knowed it I was only- 
skin and bone. 



I never was a 'eavy weight. I scaled at 

seven four, 
An' rode at eight, or maybe at just a trifle 

more ; 
And now I '11 stake my davy I would n't 

scale at five. 
And I 'd 'old my own at catch-weights 

with the skinniest jock alive. 

And the doctor says the reason why I sit 
an' cough an' wheeze 

Is all along o' varmint, like the cheese- 
mites in the cheese ; 



54 THE DYING WHIP 

The smallest kind o' varmint, but varmint 

all the same, 
Microscopes or somethin' — I forget the 

varmint's name. 



But I knows as I 'm a goner. They never 

said as much, 
But I reads the people's faces, and I knows 

as I am such ; 
Well, there 's 'Urst to mind the 'orses and 

the 'ounds can look to Jack, 
Though 'e never was a patch on me in 

'andlin' of a pack. 

You '11 maybe think I 'm boastin', but 

you '11 find they all agree 
That there 's not a whip in Surrey as can 

'andle 'ounds like me ; 



THE DYING WHIP 



55 



Fo I knew 'em all from puppies, and I 'd 

tell 'em without fail — 
If I seed a tail a-waggin', I could tell 

who wagged the tail. 

And voices — why. Lor' love you, it's 

more than I can 'elp, 
It just comes kind of natural to know 

each whine an' yelp ; 
You might take them twenty couple where 

you will and let 'em run, 
An' I 'd listen by the coverside and name 

'em one by one. 

I say it 's kind of natural, for since I was 

a brat 
I never cared for readin' books, or fancy 

things like that; 



56 THE DYING WHIP 

But give me 'ounds and 'orses an' I was 
quite content, 

An' I loved to 'ear 'em talkin' and to won- 
der what they meant. 

And when the 'ydrophoby came five year 

ago next May, 
When Nailer was be'avin' in a most ow- 

dacious way, 
I fixed him so 's 'e could n't bite, my 

'ands on neck an' back, 
An' I 'eaved 'im from the kennels, and 

they say I saved the pack. 

An' when the Master 'card of it, 'e up an' 

says, says 'e, 
" If that chap were a soldier man, they 'd 

give him the V. C." 



THE DYING WHIP 57 

Which is some kind o' medal what they 

give to soldier men; 
An' Master said if I were such I would 'a' 

got it then. 

Parson brought 'is Bible and come to read 

to me ; 
" 'Ave what you like, there 's everythink 

within this Book," says 'e. 
Says I, " They 've left the 'orses out ! " 

Says 'e, " You are mistook " ; 
An' 'e up an' read a 'eap of things about 

them from the Book. 

And some of it amazin' fine; although 

I 'm fit to swear 
No 'orse would ever say " Ah, ah ! " same 

as they said it there. 



58 THE DYING WHIP 

Per'aps it was an 'Ebrew 'orse the chap 

'ad in his mind, 
But I never 'card an English 'orse say 

nothin' of the kind. 



Parson is a good 'un. I 've known 'im 

from a lad; 
'T was me as taught 'im ridin', an' 'e 

rides uncommon bad; 
And he says But 'ark an' listen! 

There 's an 'orn ! I 'card it blow ; 
Pull the blind from off the winder I Prop 

me up, and 'old me so. 

They 're 'rawing the black 'anger, just 
aside the Squire's grounds. 

'Ark and listen I 'Ark and listen I There 's 
the yappin' of the 'ounds : 



THE DYING WHIP 59 

There 's Fanny and Beltinker, and I 'ear 

old Boxer call ; 
You see I was n't boastin' when I said I 

knew 'em all. 



Let me sit an' 'old the bed-rail ! Now I 

see 'em as they pass : 
There 's Squire upon the Midland mare, 

a good 'un on the grass; 
But this is closish country, and you wants 

a clever 'orse 
When 'alf the time you 're in the woods 

an' 'alf among the gorse. 

'Ark to Jack a-'oUering — a-bleatin' like a 

lamb. 
You would n't think it now, perhaps, to 

see the thing I am; 



6o THE DYING WHIP 

But there was a time the ladies used to 

linger at the meet 
Just to 'ear me callin' in the woods : my 

callin' was so sweet. 



I see the cross-roads corner, with the field 

awaitin' there, 
There 's Purcell on 'is piebald 'orse, an' 

doctor on the mare, 
And the Master on 'is iron gray ; she is n't 

much to look. 
But I seed 'er do clean twenty foot across 

the 'eathly brook. 

There 's Captain Kane an' Mclntyre an' 

'alf a dozen more. 
And two or three are 'untin' whom I 

never seed afore ; 



THE DYING WHIP 6i 

Likely-lookin' chaps they be, wellgroomed 

and 'orsed and dressed — 
I wish they could 'a' seen the pack when 

it was at its best. 



It 's a check, and they are drawing down 
the coppice for a scent. 

You can see as they 've been runnin', for 
the 'orses they are spent ; 

I Ml lay the fox will break this way, down- 
wind as sure as fate. 

An' if he does you Ml see the field come 
poundin' through our gate. 

But, Maggie, what 's that slinkin' beside 

the cover? — See ! 
Now it 's in the clover field, and goin' 

fast an' free, 



62 THE DYING WHIP 

It 's 'im, and they don't see 'im. It 's 

'imi 'AUoo! 'Alloo I 
My broken wind won't run to it — I '11 

leave the job to you. 



There, now I 'ear the music, and I know 

they 're on his track ; 
Oh, watch 'em, Maggie, watch 'em ! Ain't 

they just a lovely pack I 
I 've nursed 'em through distemper, an' 

I 've trained an' broke 'em in. 
An' my 'cart it just goes out to them as if 

they was my kin. 

Well, all things 'as an endin', as I 've 

'eard the parson say, 
The 'orse is cast, an' the 'ound is past, an' 

the 'unter 'as 'is day ; 



THE DYING WHIP 63 

But my day was yesterday, so lay me 

down again. 
You can draw the curtain, Maggie, right 

across the window-pane. 



MASTER 

Master went a-hunting, 

When the leaves were falling; 
We saw him on the bridle path, 

We heard him gaily calling, 
" Oh, master, master, come you back. 
For I have dreamed a dream so black I " 
A glint of steel from bit and heel, 

The chestnut cantered faster, 
A red flash seen amid the green, 

And so good-by to master. 

Master came from hunting, 

Two silent comrades bore him ; 

His eyes were dim, his face was white, 

The mare was led before him. 
64 



MASTER 65 

"Oh, master, master, is it thus 
That you have come again to us ? " 
I held my lady's ice-cold hand. 

They bore the hurdle past her; 
Why should they go so soft and slow "? 
It matters not to master. 



H. M. S. "FOUDROYANT" 

[^Being an humble address to Her Majesty' s Naval 
advisers, who sold Nelson' s old Jlagsbip to the Ger- 
mans/or a thousand pounds. "S^ 

Who says the Nation's purse is lean, 
Who fears for claim or bond or debt, 

When all the glories that have been 
Are scheduled as a cash asset *? 

If times are black and trade is slack. 
If coal and cotton fail at last. 

We 've something left to barter yet — 
Our glorious past. 

There 's many a crypt in which lies hid 

The dust of statesman or of king; 
66 



H. M. S. "FOUDROYANT" 67 

There 's Shakespeare's home to raise a bid. 
And Milton's house its price would 
bring. 
What for the sword that Cromwell drew ? 
What for Prince Edward's coat of mail? 
What for our Saxon Alfred's tomb ? 
They 're all for sale ! 

And stone and marble may be sold 

Which serve no present daily need; 
There 's Edward's Windsor, labeled old. 

And Wolsey's palace, guaranteed. 
St. Clement Danes and fifty fanes, 

The Tower and the Temple grounds ; 
How much for these ? Just price them, 
please. 

In British pounds. 

You hucksters, have you still to learn 
The things which money will not buy ? 



68 H. M. S. "FOUDROYANT" 

Can you not read that, cold and stern 
As we may be, there still does lie 

Deep in our hearts a hungry love 
For what concerns our island story ? 

We sell our work — perchance our lives, 
But not our glory. 

Go barter to the knacker's yard 

The steed that has outlived its time ! 
Send hungry to the pauper ward 

The man who served you in his prime 
But when you touch the Nation's store. 

Be broad your mind and tight your grip 
Take heed ! And bring us back once 
more 

Our Nelson's ship. 

And if no mooring can be found 
In all our harbors near or far. 



H. M. S. "FOUDROYANT" 69 

Then tow the old three-decker round 
To where the deep-sea soundings are ; 

There, with her pennon flying clear. 
And with her ensign lashed peak high. 

Sink her a thousand fathoms sheer. 
There let her lie ! 



THE FARNSHIRE CUP 

Christopher Davis was up upon Mavis 

And Sammy MacGregor on Flo, 
Jo Chauncy rode Spider, the rankest out- 
sider. 

But he 'd make a wooden horse go. 
There was Robin and Leah and Boadicea, 

And Chesterfield's Son ot the Sea; 
And Irish Nuneaton, who never was 
beaten, 

They backed her at seven to three. 

The course was the devil ! A start on the 
level, 
And then a stiff breather uphill; 
A bank at the top with a four-foot drop. 

And a bullfinch down by the mill. 

70 



THE FARNSHIRE CUP 71 

A Stretch of straight from the Whittlesea 
gate, 
Then up and down and up ; 
And the mounts that stay through Farn- 
shire clay 
May bid for the Farnshire Cup. 



The tipsters were touting, the bookies 
were shouting 
" Bar one, bar one, bar one ! " 
With a ghnt and a glimmer of silken 
shimmer 
The field shone bright in the sun, 
When Farmer Brown came riding down : 

" I hain't much time to spare. 
But I 've entered her name, so I '11 play 
out the game. 
On the back o' my old gray mare. 



72 THE FARNSHIRE CUP 

" You never would think 'er a thorough- 
bred chnker, 

There 's never a judge that would; 
Each leg be'ind 'as a splint, you '11 find, 

And the fore are none too good. 
She roars a bit, and she don't look fit, 

She 's molted 'alf 'er 'air ; 

But " He smiled in a way that 

seemed to say 

That he knew that old gray mare. 

And the bookies laughed and the bookies 
chaffed, 
" Who backs the mare ? " cried they. 
" A hundred to one ! " " It 's done — and 
done I " 
" We '11 take that price all day." 
"What if the mare is shedding hair! 
What if her eye is wild ! 



THE FARNSHIRE CUP 73 

We read her worth and her pedigree birth 
In the smile that her owner smiled." 

And the whisper grew and the whisper 
flew 

That she came of Isonomy stock. 
" Fifty to one ! " " It 's done — and done ! 

Look at her haunch and hock ! 
Ill-groomed I Why, yes, but one may 
guess 

That that is her owner's guile." 
Ah, Farmer Brown, the sharps from town 

Have read your simple smile ! 

They 've weighed him in. *' Now lose or 
win, 

I 've money at stake this day; 
Gee-long, my sweet, and if we 're beat, 

We '11 both do all we may ! " 



74 THE FARNSHIRE CUP 

He joins the rest, they line abreast, 
" Back Leah I Mavis up ! " 

The flag is dipped and the field is slipped, 
Full split for the Farnshire Cup. 

Christopher Davis is leading on Mavis, 

Spider is waiting on Flo; 
Boadicea is gaining on Leah, 

Irish Nuneaton lies low; 
Kobin is tailing, his wind has been failing. 

Son of the Sea 's going fast : 
So crack on the pace, for it 's any one's 
race. 

And the winner 's the horse that can 
last. 



Chestnut and bay, and sorrel and gray. 
See how they glimmer and gleam ! 



THE FARNSHIRE CUP 75 

Bending and straining, and losing and 
gaining, 
Silk jackets flutter and stream ; 
They are over the grass as the cloud 
shadows pass, 
They are up to the fence at the top ; 
It 's " hey then I " and over, and into the 
clover, 
There was n't one slip at the drop. 



They are all going still : they are round 
by the mill, 
They are down by the Whittlesea 
gate; 
Leah 's complaining, and Mavis is 
gaining, 
And Flo 's catching up in the 
straight. 



76 THE FARNSHIRE CUP 

Robin 's gone wrong, but the Spider runs 
strong, 

He sticks to the leader like wax ; 
An utter outsider, but look at his rider — 

Jo Chauncy, the pick of the cracks ! 

Robin was tailing and pecked at a paling, 

Leah 's gone weak in her feet; 
Boadicea came down at the railing. 

Son of the Sea is dead beat. 
Leather to leather, they 're pounding 
together. 

Three of them all in a row ; 
And Irish Nuneaton, who never was beaten, 

Is level with Spider and Flo. 



It 's into the straight from the Whittlesea 
gate. 
Clean galloping over the green. 



THE FARNSHIRE CUP 77 

But four foot high the hurdles lie 
With a sunken ditch between. 

'T is a bit of a test for a beast at its best, 
And the devil and all at its worst; 

But it 's clear run in with the Cup to win 
For the horse that is over it first. 



So try it, my beauties, and fly it, my 
beauties, 
Spider, Nuneaton, and Flo ; 
With a trip and a blunder there 's one 
of them under. 
Hark to it crashing below ! 
Is it the brown or the sorrel that 's down ? 
It 's the brown I It is Flo who is in I 
And Spider with Chauncy, the pick of the 
fancy. 
Is going full split for a win. 



78 THE FARNSHIRE CUP 

" Spider is winning ! " " Jo Chauncy is 
winning ! " 
" He 's winning ! He 's winning I 
Bravo I" 
The bookies are raving, the ladies are 
waving, 
The Stand is all shouting for Jo. 
The horse is clean done, but the race may 
be won 
By the Newmarket lad on his 
back; 
For the fire of the rider may bring an out- 
sider 
Ahead of a thoroughbred crack. 



"Spider is winning!" "Jo Chauncy is 
winning ! " 
It swells like the roar of the sea; 



THE FARNSHIRE CUP 79 

But Jo hears the drumming of somebody 
coming. 
And sees a lean head by his knee. 
" Nuneaton I Nuneaton I The Spider is 
beaten I " 
It is but a spurt at the most ; 
For lose it or win it, they have but a 
minute 
Before they are up with the post. 

Nuneaton is straining, Nuneaton is gain- 
ing 
Neither will falter nor flinch ; 

Whips they are plying and jackets are 
flying. 
They 're fairly abreast to an inch. 
"Crack 'em up! Let 'em go! Well 
ridden ! Bravo ! " 
Gamer ones never were bred; 



8o THE FARNSHIRE CUP 

" Jo Chauncy has done it I He 's spurted ! 
He 's won it ! " 
The favorite 's beat by a head ! 

Don't tell me of luck, for it 's judgment 
and pluck 
And a courage that never will shirk ; 
To give your mind to it and know how 
to do it 
And put all your heart in your work. 
So here 's to the Spider, the winning out- 
sider, 
With little Jo Chauncy up ; 
May they stay life's course, both jockey 
and horse, 
As they stayed in the Farnshire Cup. 

But it 's possible that you are wondering 
what 
May have happened to Farmer Brown, 



THE FARNSHIRE CUP 8i 

And the old gray crock of Isonomy stock 
Who was backed by the sharps from 
town. 
She blew and she sneezed, she coughed 
and she wheezed, 
She ran till her knees gave way; 
But never a grumble at trip or at stumble 
Was heard from her jock that day. 

For somebody laid against the gray, 

And somebody made a pile ; 
And Brown says he can make farming pay, 

And he smiles a simple smile. 
" Them sharps from town were riled," says 
Brown ; 

" But I can't see why — can you ? 
For I said quite fair as I knew that mare. 

And I proved my words was true." 



THE GROOM S STORY 

Ten mile in twenty minutes! 'E done it, 

sir. That 's true. 
The big bay 'orse in the further stall — 

the one wot 's next to you. 
I 've seen some better 'orses ; I 've seldom 

seen a wuss. 
But 'e 'olds the bloomin' record, an' that 's 

good enough for us. 

We knew as it was in 'im. 'E 's thorough- 
bred, three part. 
We bought 'im for to race 'im, but we 

found 'e 'ad no 'eart ; 
82 



THE GROOM'S STORY 83 

For 'e was sad and thoughtful, and amazin' 

dignified, 
It seemed a kind o' liberty to drive 'im or 

to ride ; 



For 'e never seemed a-thinkin' of what 'e 

'ad to do, 
But 'is thoughts was set on 'igher things, 

admirin' of the view. 
'E looked a pufFeck pictur, and a pictur 

'e would stay, 
'E would n't even switch 'is tail to drive 

the flies away. 

And yet we knew 't was in 'im ; we knew 

as 'e could fly ; 
But what we could n't git at was 'ow to 

make 'im try. 



84 THE GROOM'S STORY 

We 'd almost turned the job up, until at 

last one day 
We got the last yard out of 'im in a most 

amazin' way. 

It was all along o' master; which master 
'as the name 

Of a reg'lar true blue sportman, an' al- 
ways acts the same ; 

But we all 'as weaker moments, which 
master 'e 'ad one. 

An' 'e went and bought a motor-car when 
motor-cars begun. 

I seed it in the stable yard — it fairly 

turned me sick — 
A greasy, wheezy engine as can neither 

buck or kick. 



THE GROOM'S STORY 85 

You 've a screw to drive it forrard, and a 

screw to make it stop, 
For it was foaled in a smithy stove an' 

bred in a blacksmith shop. 

It did n't want no stable, it didn't ask no 

groom. 
It did n't need no nothin' but a bit o' 

standin' room. 
Just fill it up with paraffin an' it would go 

all day, 
Which the same should be agin the law 

if I could 'ave my way. 

Well, master took 'is motor-car, an' moted 

'ere an' there, 
A frightenin' the 'orses an' a poisonin' the 

air. 



86 THE GROOM'S STORY 

'E wore a bloomin' yachtin' cap, but Lor' I 

wot did 'e know, 
Excep' that if you turn a screw the thing 

would stop or go ? 

An' then one day it would n't go. 'E 

screwed and screwed again, 
But somethin' jammed, an' there 'e stuck 

in the mud of a country lane. 
It 'urt 'is pride most cruel, but what was 

'e to do ? 
So at last 'e bade me fetch a 'orse to pull 

the motor through. 

This was the 'orse we fetched 'im ; an' 

when we reached the car. 
We braced 'im tight and proper to the 

middle of the bar, 



THE GROOM'S STORY 87 

And buckled up 'is traces and lashed them 

to each side. 
While 'e 'eld 'is 'ead so 'aughtily, an' 

looked most dignified. 

Not bad tempered, mind you, but kind 
of pained and vexed, 

And 'e seemed to say, " Well, bli' me I 
wot will they ask me next *? 

I 've put up with some liberties, but this 
caps all by far. 

To be assistant engine to a crocky motor- 
car ! " 



Well, master 'e was in the car, a-fiddlin' 

with the gear. 
And the 'orse was meditatin', an' I was 

standin' near. 



88 THE GROOM'S STORY 

When master 'e touched somethin' — 
what it was we'll never know — 

But it sort o' spurred the boiler up and 
made the engine go. 

" 'Old 'ard, old gal ! " says master, and 

" Gently then ! " says I, 
But an engine won't 'eed coaxin' an' it 

ain't no use to try ; 
So first 'e pulled a lever, an' then 'e turned 

a screw, 
But the thing kept crawlin' forrard spite 

of all that 'e could do. 

And first he went quite slowly and the 

'orse went also slow, 
But 'e 'ad to buck up faster when the 

wheels began to go ; 



THE GROOM'S STORY 89 

For the car kept crowdin' on 'im and but- 
tin' 'im along, 

And in less than 'alf a minute, sir, that 
'orse was goin' strong. 

At first 'e walked quite dignified, an' then 
'e 'ad to trot, 

And then 'e tried a canter when the pace 
became too 'ot. 

'E looked 'is very 'aughtiest, as if 'e did n't 
mind. 

And all the time the motor-car was push- 
in' 'im be'ind. 



Now, master lost 'is 'ead when 'e found 'e 

could n't stop. 
And 'e pulled a valve or somethin' an' 

somethin' else went pop, 



90 THE GROOM'S STORY 

An' somethin' else went fizzywiz, and in 

a flash, or less, 
That blessed car was goin' like a limited 

express. 

Master 'eld the steerin' gear, an' kept the 

road all right, 
And away they whizzed and clattered — 

my aunt I it was a sight. 
'E seemed the finest draught 'orse as ever 

lived by far. 
For all the country Juggins thought 't was 

'im wot pulled the car. 

'E was stretchin' like a gray'ound, 'e was 

goin' all 'e knew ; 
But it bumped an' shoved be'ind 'im, for 

all that 'e could do; 



THE GROOM'S STORY 91 

It butted 'im an' boosted 'im an' spanked 

'im on a'ead, 
Till 'e broke the ten-mile record, same as 

I already said. 

Ten mile in twenty minutes ! 'E done it, 

sir. That 's true. 
The only time we ever found what that 

'ere 'orse could do. 
Some say it was n't 'ardly fair, and the 

papers made a fuss. 
But 'e broke the ten-mile record, and 

that 's good enough for us. 

You see that 'orse's tail, sir ? You don't ! 

No more do we, 
Which really ain't surprisin', for 'e 'as no 

tail to see ; 



92 THE GROOM'S STORY 

That engine wore it off 'iin before master 

made it stop, 
And all the road was littered like a 

bloomin' barber's shop. 

And master? Well, it cured 'im. 'E 

altered from that day, 
And come back to 'is 'orses in the good 

old-fashioned way. 
And if you wants to git the sack, the 

quickest way by far 
Is to 'int as 'ow you think 'e ought to 

keep a motor-car. 



WITH THE CHIDDINGFOLDS 

The horse is bedded down 

Where the straw lies deep. 
The hound is in the kennel; 
Let the poor hound sleep ! 
And the fox is in the spinney 

By the run which he is haunting. 
And I '11 lay an even guinea 
That a goose or two is wanting 
When the farmer comes to count them in 
the morning. 

The horse is up and saddled ; 

Girth the old horse tight ! 
The hounds are out and drawing 

In the morning light. 
93 



94 WITH THE CHIDDINGFOLDS 

Now it 's " Yoick ! " among the heather, 
And it 's " Yoick ! " across the clover, 
And it 's " To him, altogether ! " 
" Hyke a Bertha ! Hyke a Rover I " 
And the woodlands smell so sweetly in 
the morning. 

" There 's Termagant a-whimper- 

She whimpers so." 
" There 's a young hound yapping ! " 
Let the young hound go ! 
But the old hound is cunning, 

And it 's him we mean to follow, 
" They are running ! They are run- 
ning!" 
And it 's " Forrard to the hollo ! " 
For the scent is lying strongly in the 
morning. 



WITH THE CHIDDINGFOLDS 95 

" Who 's the fool that heads him ? " 

Hold hard, and let him pass ! 
He 's out among the oziers, 
He 's clear upon the grass. 
You grip his flanks and settle, 
For the horse is stretched and 
straining. 
Here 's a game to test your mettle. 
And a sport to try your training. 
When the Chiddingfolds are running in 
the morning. 

We 're up by the Coppice 

And we 're down by the Mill, 

We 're out upon the Common, 
And the hounds are running still. 
You must tighten on the leather, 

For we blunder through the 
bracken : 



96 WITH THE CHIDDINGFOLDS 

Though you 're over hocks in heather 
Still the pace must never slacken 
As we race through Thursley Common in 
the morning. 

We are breaking from the tangle, 

We are out upon the green, 
There 's a bank and a hurdle 
With a quickset between. 
You must steady him and try it, 
You are over with a scramble. 
Here 's a wattle ! You must fly it, 
And you land among the bramble. 
For it 's roughish, toughish going in the 
morning. 

'Ware the bog by the Grove 
As you pound through the slush. 

See the whip ! See the huntsman I 
We are close upon his brush. 



WITH THE CHIDDINGFOLDS 97 

'Ware the root that lies before you ! 

It will trip you if you blunder. 
'Ware the branch that 's drooping 
o'er you ! 
You must dip and swerve from 
under 
As you gallop through the woodland in 
the morning 

There were fifty at the find, 

There were forty at the mill. 
There were twenty on the heath. 
And ten are going still. 
Some are pounded, some are shirking. 

And they dwindle and diminish 
Till a weary pair are working. 
Spent and blowing, to the finish, 
And we hear the shrill whoo-ooping in the 
morning. 



98 WITH THE CHIDDINGFOLDS 

The horse is bedded down 

Where the straw lies deep, 
The hound is in the kennel, 
He is yapping in his sleep. 
But the fox is in the spinney 

Lying snug in earth and burrow. 
And I '11 lay an even guinea 

We could find again to-morrow. 
If we chose to go a-hunting in the morning. 



A HUNTING MORNING 

Put the saddle on the mare. 
For the wet winds blow ; 

There 's winter in the air, 
And autumn all below. 

For the red leaves are flying 

And the red bracken dying. 

And the red fox lying 

Where the oziers grow. 

Put the bridle on the mare. 
For my blood runs chill; 

And my heart, it is there. 

On the heather-tufted hill, 
99 



A HUNTING MORNING 

With the gray skies o'er us, 
And the long-drawn chorus 
Of a running pack before us 
From the find to the kill. 

Then lead round the mare, 

For it 's time that we began, 
And away with thought and care, 

Save to live and be a man, 
While the keen air is blowing. 
And the huntsman holloing. 
And the black mare going 
As the black mare can. 



THE OLD GRAY FOX 

We started from the Valley Pride, 

And Farnham way we went. 
We waited at the cover-side. 

But never found a scent. 
Then we tried the withy beds 

Which grow by Frensham town. 
And there we found the old gray fox, 
The same old fox. 
The game old fox; 
Yes, there we found the old gray fox, 
Which lives on Hankley Down. 
So here 's to the master. 
And here 's to the man ! 
And here 's to twenty couple 
Of the white and black and tan I 

lOI 



I02 THE OLD GRAY FOX 

Here 's a find without a wait ! 
Here 's a hedge without a gate I 
Here 's the man who follows straight, 
Where the old fox ran. 

The Member rode his thoroughbred. 

Doctor had the gray, 
The Soldier led on a roan red, 

The Sailor rode the bay. 
Squire was there on his Irish mare, 

And Parson on the brown ; 
And so we chased the old gray fox. 
The same old fox. 
The game old fox; 
And so we chased the old gray fox 
Across the Hankley Down. 

So here 's to the master. 

And here 's to the man I 

&c. &c. &c. 



THE OLD GRAY FOX 103 

The Doctor's gray was going strong 

Until she slipped and fell ; 
He had to keep his bed so long 

His patients all got well. 
The Member he had lost his seat, 

'T was carried by his horse ; 
And so we chased the old gray fox. 
The same old fox, 
The game old fox ; 
And so we chased the old gray fox 
That earthed in Hankley Gorse. 
So here 's to the master. 
And here 's to the man I 
&c. &c. &c. 

The Parson sadly fell away. 

And in the furze did lie ; 
The words we heard that Parson say 

Made all the horses shy I 



I04 THE OLD GRAY FOX 

The Sailor he was seen no more 

Upon that stormy bay; 
But still we chased the old gray fox, 
The same old fox, 
The game old fox ; 
Still we chased the old gray fox 
Through all the winter day. 

So here 's to the master, 

And here 's to the man I 

&c. &c. &c. 



And when we found him gone to ground, 
They sent for spade and man ; 

But Squire said " Shame ! The beast was 
game I 
A gamer never ran I " 

His wind and pace have gained the race. 
His life is fairly won. 



THE OLD GRAY FOX 105 

But may we meet the old gray fox. 
The same old fox, 
The game old fox; 
May we meet the old gray fox 
Before the year is done. 

So here 's to the master. 
And here 's to the man ! 
And here 's to twenty couple 
Of the white and black and tan! 
Here 's a find without a wait ! 
Here 's a hedge without a gate ! 
Here 's the man who follows straight. 
Where the old fox ran. 



WARE HOLES 

PfFare Holes ! is the expression used in the hunting- 
field to warn those behind against rabbit-barrows or 
other such dangers."^ 

A sportin' death ! My word it was ! 

An' taken in a sportin' way. 
Mind you, I was n't there to see ; 

I only tell you what they say. 

They found that day at Shillinglee, 

An' ran 'im down to Chillinghurst; 

The fox was goin' straight an' free 

For ninety minutes at a burst. 
io6 



'WARE HOLES 107 

They 'ad a check at Ebernoe 

An' made a cast across the Down, 

Until they got a view 'olio 

An' chased 'im up to Kirdford town. 

From Kirdford 'e run Bramber way, 
An' took 'em over 'arf the Weald. 

If you 'ave tried the Sussex clay, 
You '11 guess it weeded out the field. 

Until at last I don't suppose 
As 'arf a dozen, at the most, 

Came safe to where the grassland goes 
Switchbackin' southwards to the coast. 

Young Captain 'Eadley, 'e was there, 
And Jim the whip an' Percy Day ; 

The Purcells an' Sir Charles Adair, 
An' this 'ere gent from London way. 



io8 'WARE HOLES 

For 'e 'ad gone amazin' fine, 

Two 'undred pounds between 'is 
knees; 

Eight stone he was, an' rode at nine. 
As light an' limber as you please. 

'E was a stranger to the 'Unt, 

There were n't a person as 'e knew 
there ; 

But 'e could ride, that London gent — 
'E sat 'is mare as if 'e grew there. 

They seed the 'ounds upon the scent. 
But found a fence across their track. 

And 'ad to fly it ; else it meant 
A turnin' and a 'arkin' back. 

'E was the foremost at the fence. 
And as 'is mare just cleared the rail 



'WARE HOLES 109 

He turned to them that rode be'ind, 
For three was at 'is very tail. 

" 'Ware'oles!" says 'e, an' with the word, 
Still sittin' easy on his mare, 

Down, down 'e went, an' down an' down. 
Into the quarry yawnin' there. 

Some say it was two 'undred foot ; 

The bottom lay as black as ink. 
I guess they 'ad some ugly dreams. 

Who reined their 'orses on the brink. 

'E 'd only time for that one cry; 

" 'Ware 'oles I " says 'e, an' saves all 
three. 
There may be better deaths to die. 

But that one 's good enough for me. 



no 'WARE HOLES 

For mind you, 't was a sportin' end, 
Upon a right good sportin' day; 

They think a deal of im down 'ere, 
That gent what came from London 
way. 



THE HOME-COMING OF THE 
"EURYDICE" 

[^Lost, with her crew of three hundred boys, on the last 
day of her voyage, March 23, 1876. She foun- 
dered off Portsmouth, from which town many of the 
boys came.~\ 

Up with the royals that top the white 
spread of her ! 
Press her and dress her, and drive 
through the foam ; 
The Island 's to port, and the mainland 
ahead of her, 
Hey for the Warner and Hayling and 
Home ! 

"Bo'sun, O Bo'sun, just look at the green 
of it! 
Look at the red cattle down by the hedge! 



112 HOME-COMING OF "EURYDICE" 

Look at the fannsteading — all that is 
seen of it, 
One little gable end over the edge I " 

" Lord I the tongues of them clattering, 
clattering. 
All growing wild at a peep of the 
Wight; 
Aye, sir, aye, it has set them all chattering, 
Thinking of home and their mothers 
to-night." 

Spread the topgallants — oh, lay them out 
lustily I 
What though it darken o'er Netherby 
Combe ? 
'T is but the valley wind, puffing so 
gustily — • 
On for the Warner and Hay ling and 
Home I 



HOME-COMING OF "EURYDICE" 113 

" Bo'sun, O Bo'sun, just see the long slope 
of it! 
Culver is there, with the cliff and the 
light. 
Tell us, oh tell us, now is there a hope of it? 
Shall we have leave for our homes for 
to-night ? " 

" Tut, the clack of them ! Steadily ! 
Steadily ! 
Aye, as you say, sir, they 're little ones 
still ; 
One long reach should open it readily. 
Round by St. Helen's and under the hill. 

" The Spit and the Nab are the gates of 
the promise, 
Their mothers to them — and to us it 's 
our wives. 



114 HOME-COMING OF "EURYDICE" 

I 've sailed forty years, and — By God, it's 
upon us I 
Down royals, down tops'ls, down, 
down for your lives I " 



A gray swirl of snow with the squall at 
the back of it, 
Heeling her, reeling her, beating her 
down ! 
A gleam of her bends in the thick of the 
wrack of it, 
A flutter of white in the eddies of 
brown. 

It broke in one moment of blizzard and 
blindness ; 
The next, like a foul bat, it flapped on 
its way. 



HOME-COMING OF "EURYDICE" 115 

But our ship and our boys I Gracious 
Lord, in your kindness, 
Give help to the mothers who need it 
to-day ! 

Give help to the women who wait by the 
water, 
Who stand on the Hard with their eyes 
past the Wight. 
Ah ! whisper it gently, you sister or 
daughter, 
" Our boys are all gathered at home for 
to-night." 



THE INNER ROOM 

It is mine — the little chamber, 

Mine alone. 
I had it from my forebears 

Years agone. 
Yet within its walls I see 
A most motley company, 
And they one and all claim me 

As their own. 

There 's one who is a soldier 

Bluff and keen ; 

Single-minded, heavy-fisted. 

Rude of mien. 
ii6 



THE INNER ROOM 117 

He would gain a purse or stake it. 
He would win a heart or break it, 
He would give a life or take it. 
Conscience-clean. 



And near him is a priest 

Still schism-whole ; 
He loves the censer-reek 

And organ-roll. 
He has leanings to the mystic. 
Sacramental, eucharistic ; 
And dim yearnings altruistic 

Thrill his soul. 

There 's another who with doubts 

Is overcast; 
I think him younger brother 

To the last. 



ii8 THE INNER ROOM 

Walking wary stride by stride, 
Peering forwards anxious-eyed. 
Since he learned to doubt his guide 
In the past. 

And 'mid them all, alert, 

But somewhat cowed, 
There sits a stark-faced fellow, 

Beetle-browed, 
Whose black soul shrinks away 
From a lawyer-ridden day. 
And has thoughts he dare not say 
Half avowed. 



There are others who are sitting. 

Grim as doom. 
In the dim ill-boding shadow 

Of my room. 



THE INNER ROOM 119 

Darkling figures, stern or quaint, 
Now a savage, now a saint. 
Showing fitfully and faint 
Through the gloom. 



And those shadows are so dense. 

There may be 
Many — very many — more 

Than I see. 
They are sitting day and night. 
Soldier, rogue, and anchorite ; 
And they wrangle and they fight 

Over me. 



If the stark-faced fellow win. 

All is o'er ! 
If the priest should gain his will, 

I doubt no more I 



I20 THE INNER ROOM 

But if each shall have his day, 
I shall swing and I shall sway 
In the same old weary way 
As before. 



THE IRISH COLONEL 

Said the king to the colonel, 
" The complaints are eternal. 

That you Irish give more trouble 
Than any other corps." 

Said the colonel to the king, 
"This complaint is no new thing, 
For your foemen, sire, have made it 
A hundred times before." 



121 



THE BLIND ARCHER 

Little boy Love drew his bow at a chance, 

Shooting down at the ballroom floor ; 
He hit an old chaperon watching the 
dance, 
And oh ! but he wounded her sore. 
" Hey, Love, you could n't mean 

that I 
Hi, Love, what would you be at?" 
No word would he say, 
But he flew on his way, 
For the little boy 's busy, and how could 
he stay? 

Little boy Love drew a shaft just for sport 
At the soberest club in Pall Mall ; 



THE BLIND ARCHER 123 

He winged an old veteran drinking his port, 
And down that old veteran fell. 

" Hey, Love, you must n't do that ! 
Hi, Love, what would you be at? 
This cannot be right ! 
It 's ludicrous quite ! " 
But it 's no use to argue, for Love 's out of 
sight. 

A sad-faced young clerk in a cell all apart 

Was planning a celibate vow ; 
But the boy's random arrow has sunk in 
his heart, 
And the cell is an empty one now. 
" Hey, Love, you must n't do that ! 
Hi, Love, what would you be at*? 
He is not for you, 
He has duties to do.'* 
" But I am his duty," quoth Love as he flew. 



124 THE BLIND ARCHER 

The king sought a bride, and the nation 
had hoped 
For a queen without rival or peer. 
But the little boy shot, and the king has 
eloped 
With Miss No-one on nothing a year. 
" Hey, love, you could n't mean that I 
Hi, Love, what would you be at? 
What an impudent thing 
To make game of a king!" 
" But / '/// a king also," cried Love on the 
wing. 

Little boy Love grew pettish one day; 
"If you keep on complaining," he 
swore, 
" I '11 pack both my bow and my quiver 
away. 
And so I shall plague you no more." 



THE BLIND ARCHER 125 

"Hey, Love, you must n't do that I 
Hi, Love, what would you be at*? 
You may ruin our ease. 
You may do what you please, 
But we can't do without you, you sweet 
little tease I " 



A PARABLE 

The cheese-mites asked how the cheese 
got there, 
And warmly debated the matter; 
The Orthodox said that it came from the 
air, 
And the heretics said from the platter. 
They argued it long and they argued it 
strong, 
And I hear they are arguing now ; 
But of all the choice spirits who lived in 
the cheese. 
Not one of them thought of a cow. 



126 



A TRAGEDY 

Who 's that walking on the moorland? 

Who 's that moving on the hill? 
They are passing 'mid the bracken. 
But the shadows grow and blacken. 

And I cannot see them clearly on 
the hill. 



Who 's that calling on the moorland*? 

Who 's that crying on the hill ? 

Was it bird or was it human, 

Was it child, or man, or woman. 

Who was calling so sadly on the hill ? 
127 



128 A TRAGEDY 

Who 's that running on the moorland*? 

Who 's that flying on the hill ? 
He is there — and there again. 
But you cannot see him plain, 

For the shadow lies so darkly on the 
hill. 

What 's that lying in the heather? 

What 's that lurking on the hill ? 
My horse will go no nearer. 
And I cannot see it clearer. 

But there 's something that is lying 
on the hill. 



THE PASSING 

It was the hour of dawn, 

When the heart beats thin and small, 
The window glimmered gray. 
Framed in a shadow wall. 

And in the cold sad light 

Of the early morningtide. 
The dear, dead girl came back 

And stood by his bedside. 

The girl he lost came back; 

He saw her flowing hair; 

It flickered and it waved 

Like a breath in frosty air. 
129 



130 THE PASSING 

As in a steamy glass. 

Her face was dim and blurred 
Her voice was sweet and thin, 

Like the calling of a bird. 

" You said that you would come, 
You promised not to stay; 

And I have waited here. 

To help you on the way. 

" I have waited on, 

But still you bide below ; 
You said that you would come. 

And oh, I want you so ! 

" For half my soul is here. 

And half my soul is there. 

When you are on the earth 
And I am in the air. 



THE PASSING 131 

" But on your dressing-stand 

There lies a triple key ; 
Unlock the little gate 

Which fences you from me. 

" Just one little pang, 

Just one throb of pain. 
And then your weary head 

Between my breasts again." 

In the dim unhomely light 
Of the early morningtide. 

He took the triple key 

And he laid it by his side. 

A pistol, silver chased, 

An open hunting-knife, 

A phial of the drug 

Which cures the ill of life. 



132 THE PASSING 

He looked upon the three. 

And sharply drew his breath : 

" Now help me, oh my love. 

For I fear this cold gray death." 

She bent her face above. 

She kissed him and she smiled ; 
She soothed him as a mother 

May soothe a frightened child. 

" Just that little pang, love, 

Just a throb of pain, 
And then your weary head 

Between my breasts again." 

He snatched the pistol up. 
He pressed it to his ear; 

But a sudden sound broke in. 

And his skin was raw with fear. 



THE PASSING 133 

He took the hunting-knife, 

He tried to raise the blade ; 

It glimmered cold and white, 
And he was sore afraid. 

He poured the potion out, 

But it was thick and brown; 

His throat was sealed against it, 

And he could not drain it down. 

He looked to her for help, 

And when he looked — behold I 
His love was there before him 

As in the days of old. 

He saw the drooping head. 

He saw the gentle eyes ; 
He saw the same shy grace of hers 

He had been wont to prize. 



134 THE PASSING 

She pointed and she smiled, 
And lo I he was aware 

Of a half-lit bedroom chamber 
And a silent figure there. 

A silent figure lying, 

A-sprawl upon a bed ; 

With a silver-mounted pistol 
Still clotted to his head. 

And as he downward gazed. 

Her voice came full and clear, 

The homely tender voice 

Which he had loved to hear : 

" The key is very certain. 

The door is sealed to none. 

You did it, oh, my darling! 

And you never knew it done. 



THE PASSING 135 

" When the net was broken, 

You thought you felt its mesh ; 

You carried to the spirit 

The troubles of the flesh. 

"And are you trembling still, dear? 

Then let me take your hand ; 
And I will lead you outward 

To a sweet and restful land. 

" You know how once in London 
I put my griefs on you ; 

But I can carry yours now — 
Most sweet it is to do I 

" Most sweet it is to do, love. 

And very sweet to plan 
How I, the helpless woman, 

Can help the helpful man. 



136 THE PASSING 

" But let me see you smiling 

With the smile I know so well; 

Forget the world of shadows, 

And the empty broken shell. 

" It is the worn-out garment 
In which you tore a rent; 

You tossed it down, and carelessly 
Upon your way you went. 

" It is not you, my sweetheart. 
For you are here with me. 

That frame was but the promise of 
The thing that was to be — 

"A tuning of the choir 

Ere the harmonies begin; 

And yet it is the image 

Of the subtle thing within. 



THE PASSING 137 

" There 's not a trick of body, 
There 's not a trait of mind, 

But you bring it over with you, 
Ethereal, refined, 

• But still the same; for surely 

If we altered as we die. 
You would be you no longer. 

And I would not be I. 

" I might be an angel, 

But not the girl you knew; 
You might be immaculate. 

But that would not be you. 

" And now I see you smiling. 
So, darling, take my hand ; 

And I will lead you outward 

To a sweet and pleasant land. 



138 THE PASSING 

" Where thought is clear and nimble. 
Where life is pure and fresh. 

Where the soul comes back rejoicing 
From the mud-bath of the flesh. 

"But still the soul is human, 
With human ways, and so 

I love my love in spirit, 

As I loved him long ago." 

So with hands together 

And fingers twining tight, 

The two dead lovers drifted 

In the golden morning light. 

But a gray-haired man was lying 
Beneath them on a bed. 

With a silver-mounted pistol 
Still clotted to his head. 



THE FRANKLIN'S MAID 

The franklin he hath gone to roam, 
The franklin's maid she bides at home ; 
But she is cold, and coy, and staid. 
And who may win the franklin's maid? 

There came a knight of high renown 
In bassinet and ciclatoun ; 
On bended knee full long he prayed — 
He might not win the franklin's maid. 

There came a squire so debonair. 
His dress was rich, his words were fair. 
He sweetly sang, he deftly played — 
He could not win the franklin's maid. 
139 



I40 THE FRANKLIN'S MAID 

There came a mercer wonder-fine, 
With velvet cap and gaberdine ; 
For all his ships, for all his trade. 
He could not buy the franklin's maid. 

There came an archer bold and true, 
With bracer guard and stave of yew; 
His purse was light, his jerkin frayed — 
Haro, alas I the franklin's maid ! 

Oh, some have laughed and some have 

cried, 
And some have scoured the countryside ; 
But off they ride through wood and glade. 
The bowman and the franklin's maid. 



THE OLD HUNTSMAN 

There 's a keen and grim old huntsman 
On a horse as white as snow ; 

Sometimes he is very swift 

And sometimes he is slow. 

But he never is at fault, 

For he always hunts at view. 

And he rides without a halt 
After you. 

The huntsman's name is Death, 

His horse's name is Time ; 

He is coming, he is coming, 

As I sit and write this rhyme ; 
141 



142 THE OLD HUNTSMAN 

He is coming, he is coming. 

As you read the rhyme I write ; 
You can hear the hoofs' low drumming 
Day and night. 

You can hear the distant drumming 
As the clock goes tick-a-tack, 

And the chiming of the hours 
Is the music of his pack. 

You may hardly note their growling 
Underneath the noonday sun, 

But at night you hear them howling 
As they run. 

And they never check or falter 

For they never miss their kill; 

Seasons change and systems alter. 
But the hunt is running still. 



THE OLD HUNTSMAN 143 

Hark ! the evening chime is playing, 
O'er the long gray town it peals ; 
Don't you hear the death-hound baying 
At your heels ? 



Where is there an earth or burrow? 

Where a cover left for you ? 
A year, a week, perhaps to-morrow 

Brings the Huntsman's death halloo. 
Day by day he gains upon us, 

And the most that we can claim 
Is that when the hounds are on us 
We die game. 

And somewhere dwells the Master, 

By whom it was decreed ; 
He sent the savage huntsman, 

He bred the snow-white steed. 



X44 THE OLD HUNTSMAN 

These hounds which run forever. 
He set them on your track ; 
He hears you scream, but never 
Calls them back. 

He does not heed our suing, 
We never see his face ; 

He hunts to our undoing, 

We thank him for the chase. 

We thank him and we flatter. 

We hope — because we must 

But have we cause*? No matter! 
Let us trust I 



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